


Love Thy Neighbor

by janvandyne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janvandyne/pseuds/janvandyne
Summary: You’ve noticed the next-door neighbor noticing you, ever since you started house sitting a week ago. You don’t mind. He’s kind of cute in a dad-jeans sort of way. He’s tall, too. With broad shoulders, big hands, and some kind of high-tech prosthetic that you want to know more about. That, combined with his blue eyes, pink lips, and jaw so sharp that you swear it could cut glass has had you wanting for days.So, yeah, you could work with that.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 85





	Love Thy Neighbor

You’ve noticed the next-door neighbor noticing you, ever since you started house sitting a week ago. You don’t mind. He’s kind of cute in a dad-jeans sort of way. He’s tall, too. With broad shoulders, big hands, and some kind of high-tech prosthetic that you want to know more about. That, combined with his blue eyes, pink lips, and jaw so sharp that you swear it could cut glass has had you wanting for days.

So, yeah, you could work with that.

You’ve seen him with kids, but with no partner and no ring, so you figure he’s fair game. And you’ve been _bored_ out here in the suburbs. The most excitement you’ve had is when the ice cream truck passed through and now you’re getting antsy, restless. And dad-jeans is home, alone, so you decide to pay him a visit.

You don’t bother to change before you leave. You’ve been lounging around in a tank top and some yoga pants all day, so you just throw on some shoes and head on over. You have to stop yourself from skipping along the sidewalk, you’re so excited. Heart thumping, lungs pumping, and you’re already feeling a dull throb radiating from between your thighs.

You knock on his door and it takes him no time to answer. You give him a big, sweet smile when he opens the door, all teeth and cute cheeks. You give him a quick once over, and you’re immediately glad that you decided to do this, because he is _adorable._ Dorky in an endearing sort of way. He’s wearing a heather grey sweatshirt and those damn jeans, white socks and nothing else. His blue eyes are wide, brows knitted in curious confusion, and you want to laugh at how easy this is going to be.

“Mr. Barnes?” you say, still smiling. “I’m staying next door, watching my friend’s house while she’s away. She said that if I needed something then I could probably come ask you, sooo… umm, are you any good with your hands?”

His mouth drops open, eyes grow even wider. “Wh-what?” he asks, and you can see his fingers tighten on the doorframe, knuckles white with the strain.

“Sorry,” you say, laughing. “The kitchen sink is leaking. It’s just drip-drip day and night and I was wondering if you were handy with that kind of stuff? Maybe you could come take a look at it for me?”

You cock an eyebrow when he doesn’t answer immediately, throwing a little ‘please’ in there for good measure. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and then he nods his head.

“Of course,” he finally replies. “Yeah, just give me a few minutes and I’ll be right over.”

Your smile grows bigger and you bounce on your toes. “Oh, thank you! You’re a life saver!” you say. “The best. I’ll see you in a few!”

* * *

In less than 10 minutes he’s at the door with a toolbox in his hand. He’s wearing the same sweatshirt and jeans, but has thrown on some sneakers, and it looks like he might have combed his hair a little too. _Adorable._

“I really appreciate this, Mr. Barnes,” you tell him after you lead him back to the kitchen. You lean your back against the counter opposite the sink, which isn’t leaking _at all_. “I’m sure you have better things to be doing on a Saturday afternoon.”

He smiles and takes a knee, not really looking at you, but he says, “No, it’s fine. I’m happy to help. And you can call me Bucky, if you want.” He opens the cabinets underneath the sink. “Has it been leaking the whole time you’ve been here?”

“No, I don’t think so,” you say. “And of course, once I got back from your place and looked at it, it stopped dripping. But maybe you can just tighten things up down there? Make sure it’s ok?”

“Yeah, of course I can,” he replies, head under the sink.

You two sit in silence for a few minutes as Bucky tinkers with the pipes. From your place behind him, you quietly admire the way his back flexes beneath his sweatshirt, the width of his shoulders, that cute tuft of hair sticking out at the back of his head.

“So, you’re home all alone today?” you ask after a few minutes. “Where are the kids?”

You hear him clear his throat before he says, “They’re with the ex-wife. We divorced about a year ago and they stay with her every other weekend.”

He leans forward a little more, the hem of his sweatshirt rising up so that you can see a sliver of skin above his jeans. It’s tantalizing, that little peek of pale flesh. You want to reach out and touch it.

“Her loss,” you tell him. And when he looks back over his shoulder at you, hands still moving around underneath the sink, you smile. “Don’t you think? I mean, your handsome, good with your hands. _Handy_ , I mean.” And you give him a wink.

“Oh, shoot!” Bucky yells, hopping up from the floor.

Before you realize what’s happening, water is covering the kitchen, spraying both you and him, and flooding the floor. With a yelp you spring upright and put your hands in front of you to try to protect yourself but there’s just so much water that there’s nothing you can do as Bucky takes the brunt of it, putting his head back under the sink to try to shut the water off.

He manages it, and when he stands back up, he is sopping wet. His heather sweatshirt has turned dark grey all over and his jeans are soaked through. He pushes his hair back, runs a hand over his face, flicks the water to the already flooded floor.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head, looking around to inspect all the damage. “I guess… I guess I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

You snort out a laugh, looking around too. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

Your friend is going to be pissed, but maybe if you clean the water up before it damages anything, you can get away with just a firm scolding. Shit, and she’ll never let you housesit for her again if you ruin anything, and wouldn’t that be a shame?

You look at Bucky. Your time housesitting is almost up, and you’ll probably never see him again. Damn, you’re going to lose a friend and a fuck. No! You’ve come this far, and you’re going to see how this plays out. 

You smile at Bucky and walk closer, then, you pull at the hem of his wet sweatshirt. “Come on. You don’t want to catch a cold, do you?” you say to him.

Bucky looks hesitant, but you cock an eyebrow at him, not letting go of the sweatshirt. He gives in and reaches back to pull the wet fabric over his head, then hands it to you.

His has a white t-shirt on underneath, clinging to his body. You give him a deliberate up and down, and honestly, you’re pleasantly surprised. His stomach is hard, shirt glued to the ridges of his abs. His arms are big, shoulders broad, and where in the _fuck_ did all of this come from?

“Shirt, too,” you say, holding out your hand.

He strips it off with less hesitation than his sweatshirt, the muscles in his stomach and chest flexing with the movements. After he peels it off, he hands that to you as well. He stands in front of you, awkward and topless when you add, “And your pants, please.”

His hands go straight to his belt and he works it loose from the buckle. When he has successfully managed that, he pulls the belt from its loops in one swift motion and sits it on the counter. He stumbles as he steps out of his shoes and then bends down, hopping as he pulls off his socks. You watch him, unabashed, as he slides his jeans down from his hips and off his legs, and he hands those to you too.

He stands in front of you in just his boxer briefs, those just as wet as every other part of him. You look down and he’s half hard, even with goosebumps on his skin from the chill of the room. You give him a smile and then turn, taking his clothes down the hall to the laundry room. You strip, too, down to your bra and panties, and put your clothes in the dryer with Bucky’s. 

You come back, half naked, with two buckets and a mop. You hand him a bucket and then open the kitchen door that leads into the backyard so you can throw the water out as you scoop. You look over your shoulder at Bucky who hasn’t moved.

“Are you gonna help me?” you ask.

“Oh! Yeah, umm –“

He makes a quick step toward you and slips, foot sliding from underneath him, and lands on his back in the water. You both cry out when his head hits the floor, you in sympathy and him in pain. You rush over to him and fall down to your knees, lifting the back of his head and checking it for any injuries. He laughs as you do, obviously not as hurt as you thought he would be, but you don’t stop. His hands come up to rest on your forearms, rough fingertips caressing your soft skin.

“Do you think this is funny?” you ask, laughing along with him now. “You flood my friend’s kitchen! You fall and scare me half to death! It’s not funny!”

“It is,” he says, smiling. His blue eyes are crinkled in the corners as he looks at you, water still clinging to his lashes. “It kind of is. This whole situation is surreal.”

“Really? You think so?” you reply in mock offense.

“I really do.”

You huff in exasperation and throw your leg over Bucky’s hips to straddle him. You move your hands from the back of his head to his bare chest, and instinctively he grabs your thighs to hold you steady.

“You’re not laughing now,” you say. “What’s wrong? Hmm?”

Bucky sputters a little, trying to find words, but then you lean down, pressing your stomach to his, chest to chest. “Why aren’t you laughing, Bucky?” you ask, lips brushing his.

You roll your body, grinding down on his dick, hot and hard against your core. Instead of a response he groans, head tilted back and eyes closed. You kiss his slack mouth, giving his plump bottom lip a gentle peck. But, before you can pull back his hands are cradling the back of your head, holding you to him. He presses his mouth against yours, warm and pillow-soft, his mustache tickling your nose.

Despite being wet, Bucky’s body is radiating heat. His skin is hot against your palms where, underneath, you can feel his heart pounding. You slide your hands from his chest, up his shoulders, and bury your fingers in his hair. When you pull back, it’s only slightly, still close enough that you can feel his heavy breaths against your lips.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” you ask, rolling your hips against him again, and again, and again, picking up a steady rhythm. You can feel yourself getting wet, soaking your already water-soaked panties. You smirk at his shocked expression, waiting for an answer.

“Do I --?” he begins then moans, laughs, lays his head back down on the floor. “Do _I_ want to _fuck_ you? God, of course I do.”

You kiss him again, swiftly moving from his lips to his sharp jaw, down the column of his neck, to his collarbone. You run your hand down his chest, brushing over a hard nipple, and he arches and gasps. You do it again, this time pinching his nipple between your fingers, making his hips jump and body shudder.

This is almost too easy.

He twists the two of you around, moving on top of you, kicking up water as he does. He settles himself between your spread thighs, holds on to your hips, and grinds his still covered cock against your pussy.

“Do I want to fuck you?” he repeats again, kneading your soft flesh with his fingertips. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past week.”

 _Damn_ , and just like that, Bucky went from dad-jeans to _fuck me, daddy_.

He sits up on his knees as sweet blue eyes looking down at you in a sultry stare. Those sharp, white teeth biting his bottom lip. Big hands sliding up your stomach, fingers teasing at the band of your bra, before slipping underneath to grab your breasts.

You arch your back as he pushes your bra up and out of the way. When he pinches your nipples between his fingertips, you gasp and shiver, close your eyes and thank the universe that Bucky is better at handling your body than he is a wrench.

Bucky keeps one hand on your breast as the other slides down your stomach, all the way down, until he cups your mound. He presses his whole palm against your pussy, the heel of his hand pushing against your clit. You grind down against it, rolling your body, trying to get some kind of friction. 

And then his fingertips press against your cunt, hindered by the soft give of your panties. You can feel the fabric push into you just slightly, Bucky’s blunt, thick digits massaging your opening. It feels obscene, this _almost_ but _not quite_. This cruel tease when all you want is him inside you, _now please, goddamnit._

“Come on, Mr. Barnes,” you beg. “Can’t you feel how wet I am?”

And then you laugh because you remember that you’re lying in water an inch deep. But Bucky doesn’t seem to find you funny. Wordless, he hooks his thumb in the crotch of your panties and pulls them to the side, exposing your slick pussy. When he sees it, he groans, staring unabashed, biting his bottom lip like he’s trying to stop himself from eating you up.

Bucky moves his hand from your breast and slides a finger into your cunt, slow and easy, sucking in a shuddering breath as he does. He bows his finger and rubs the tip against your smooth inner walls, making your pussy tremble and clit throb. He adds another finger and does that same with that one, stroking your pussy in a maddening rhythm.

“Please,” you moan. “Just fuck me.” And that’s all it takes.

He slides his fingers out of your pussy and grabs your bra, pulls it over your head without even bothering to unclasp it and tosses it to the side. He bends down and licks your nipple, sucks it into his mouth, and you cry out at the pleasure that the warm heat of his tongue provides. He doesn’t linger, though. He licks a line up your chest, your throat, your jaw. He kisses you, hard and sloppy, as he pushes his boxer briefs down, freeing his cock.

He pulls back and you can’t _not_ look. And, _God,_ you don’t think you can take any more surprises after this. It’s fucking beautiful. Just the right size, cockhead flushed the prettiest shade of pink. A perfect upwards curve that you can only imagine hitting all the right spots.

But you don’t need to imagine it because Bucky is sliding the tip of his cock against your wet slit, slicking it up. And he’s pushing in, slow, steady, stretching you and filling you so full. You have to close your eyes, arch your back, and just take it.

He pulls out before he’s all the way in and pushes forward again, a little deeper. He does it again, pulling out then pushing forward, back and forth, deeper and deeper until he’s finally all the way in, hips pressed against your trembling thighs.

You were not expecting _this_. You were expecting some flirting, some teasing. If you did seduce him, it would surely just be a clumsy fuck. But _this –_ this is so much more than you could imagine. Bucky knows how to move his body, how to roll his hips, how to pace his strokes just right so that you can feel every inch of his thick cock.

It’s dirty, filthy in the best sort of way. You’re both wet, cold, and yes, fucking on your friend’s kitchen floor. Bucky has the crotch of your panties hooked around his thumb, pulled to the side. His other hand is gripping your hip tight, pulling your body toward him every time he thrusts into you.

And just like you imagined, he’s hitting that spot inside of you, making your body shudder and shiver with pleasure. You wrap your hands around his forearms, both warm even though one is metal, holding on to him as he uses your slack body the ways he wants. 

Bucky’s eyes are glued to the place where you two are connected, watching as his dick slides in and out of your wet pussy. He seems captivated, and you don’t blame him. If you could see his cock filling you up so nice and full, you’d watch too.

The thought makes your cunt clench in renewed arousal, and when it does, Bucky tears your panties from your body, discarding the ruined fabric somewhere on the waterlogged floor beside him. With both hands free, he grabs your hips and starts pounding your pussy even harder.

“Is this what you wanted?” Bucky nearly growls. “Were you planning this all along?”

“Yes, I – I planned for you to, _fuck_ , to ruin my friend’s kitchen!”

He pulls at your hips, maneuvering your body so that your ass is on his thighs, the small of your back not even on the tile anymore. The new angle has you shaking, eyes clenched closed against the overwhelming feeling of him ruining you for anybody else.

“Oh, holy fuck, Bucky!”

You take one hand off of his forearm and rub your clit, not caring if it fucks up his rhythm. You feel out of control, hand erratic where you’re rubbing yourself with friction but no finesse. Just trying to get _there._

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you moan, every time he slides inside of you. “Bucky!”

“Come on,” he says back, voice deep and rough. “Come on my dick.”

And you do, his voice pushing you over the edge. His blue eyes fierce as he watches you writhe against the wet floor. Bucky doesn’t relent though, fucking you through your orgasm, never slowing his pace or his intensity.

“Please,” you moan, not even know what you’re pleading for. “Please, please, Bucky, _fuck_.”

Bucky growls as he leans down over you, pressing his body against yours. He captures your mouth in a kiss – clumsy, too hard, but perfect, nonetheless. Neither of you are thinking about skill, not when you’re both breathing too heavy to even maintain contact.

Bucky buries his face in the curve of your neck as his hips stutter, his rhythm reduced to erratic thrusts. He’s murmuring your name as he grinds into you, his warm breath sending shivers across your skin. And then, suddenly, he pulls out and leans up.

The lack of contact is almost shocking but then Bucky strokes his cock once, twice, again, and then he’s coming, hot and wet against your sweat slicked skin. You’re watching him as he watches where it lands, creamy white on your stomach, and he fucks himself through it, making sure that not a drop is wasted on the waterlogged floor.

When he’s come down, he takes his hand off his softening dick and puts it on your come-covered stomach, smearing it up and grabbing your breast. You squirm as he does it, arching your back up to press up into his palm.

Bucky huffs out a small, quiet laugh, and lays down beside you on the floor. He’s on his side while you’re still on your back, and you smile as he runs his knuckles down your arm, covered in goosebumps.

“That was incredible,” he tells you, and he’s blushing, even after all that. _Absolutely adorable_. “My ex-wife would have never done anything like this.”

“I’m not your ex-wife,” you say, turning your head to look at him. You wet your bottom lip with your tongue and then bite it between your teeth. He stares, watching your mouth, then leans in to kiss you. It’s soft and sweet and almost chaste, and it feels good just to have his lips against yours, no matter how brief.

“Come on,” you tell him, after he gently pulls away, because the flood can wait. The floor is tile anyway. “Let’s go take a shower. And then we can do some more things that she wouldn’t do.”


End file.
